


To Live or Die in L.A.

by EmmaDeMarais



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaDeMarais/pseuds/EmmaDeMarais
Summary: Martin's decision to live or die may finally not be up to him.





	To Live or Die in L.A.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stratisphyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stratisphyre/gifts).



> Warning: Does contain depiction of police action including gun violence, injury and non-canon character death but is not graphic in nature.
> 
> Gen fic with canon het relationship referenced.

Los Angeles  
Wednesday 10:47AM

“Put down your weapons and step outside with your hands up!”

Roger put down the megaphone and huffed in annoyance.

“Dang methheads! They’re going to drag this on through lunch, aren’t they? It’s like they know Trish and I have plans! It took three and a half weeks to get the reservation she wanted at Chivonne’s and these knuckleheads are going to make me have to cancel.”

Martin blinked at his partner in clear disbelief. “Wait, you made reservations for lunch? Not dinner, lunch?”

Roger scanned the exterior of the warehouse, but there were no signs of activity within or without save the half dozen squad cars and twice that many cops in a holding pattern outside of what they believed to be a major meth lab.

“It would have been over two months for a dinner reservation!” he complained. “Trish was already mad that I didn’t call when they first opened to get on the list, so lunch was a compromise to get me out of the doghouse faster.” He paused to consider his situation. “Of course now, I’m on double doghouse duty for canceling.”

Martin was shaking his head. “Lunch… Reservations… Weird…” 

“Hey, Bailey follows a food truck on Twitter!” Roger protested.

“Now that makes sense,” Martin countered. “The best ones usually have a set schedule, but a lot of them announce their locations same day…”

A disturbance at the warehouse made them both whip their heads around to look. A plume of black smoke billowed up from the roof.

“Damn it,” Martin swore, checking his gun. “They’re going to blow up all the evidence!” He took off towards the warehouse, gun at the ready, leaving a gaping Roger behind.

“Riggs!”

*

Roger and the newly arrived SWAT team made entry just after Martin had disappeared into a side door of the warehouse. The take down was swift and clean, with most of the suspects taken down without injury. Two chose suicide by cop and were put down. One SWAT team member took a hit to the vest, but there were no other injuries on their side.

Roger roamed the vast warehouse, gun drawn, while SWAT and the officers were busy clearing it. Emptiness greeted him at every turn until a single gunshot rang out nearby.

Riggs… His senses screamed, his fear imagining the worst while denial fought the adrenaline fueling him, skyrocketing past worry into the stratosphere.

Roger ran toward the sound, waving to two nearby SWAT to follow. They cautiously entered a new section of the warehouse and found themselves in the chemical lab portion of the operation. The only light was at the other end of the room, next to a little portable office, brightly illuminated against the dusky shadows of the rest of the warehouse.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Three more shots and now he could see where he could see Martin and a suspect exchanging gunfire just in front of the tiny office shack.

“LAPD! You’re surrounded! Surrender your weapon!” As Roger ran towards them – SWAT in tow - they saw the suspect stand and fire just as Martin stood and fired as well. The man fell and there was a small explosion near Martin that looked like a little cloud of colored gas.

“Don’t come any closer!” Martin yelled. He picked up the canister that was leaking gas and ran with it into the portable office, closing the door behind him.

As one SWAT checked the now dead suspect, the other looked gravely at Roger. “Murtaugh… This isn’t a meth lab. It’s something completely different.”

Stunned, Roger took a second to look and his heart sank as he realized the truth.

“Riggs…” He ran over to the glass door of the office, but when he went to open it the knob didn’t budge. Inside the locked office he could see Martin frantically trying to stop the gas spewing from the pressurized canister with duct tape. “Riggs! Open the door!” he called out, but Martin just shook his head. After a few seconds, the tape was on and he put the now dormant canister carefully on a table.

“Can’t do that, Rog! Not sure what this stuff is, but I couldn’t risk it getting out.”

The same SWAT who’d alerted him to the lab issue appeared at his side.

“Hazmat’s been called. They’re on the way, but they’re about ten minutes out.” He paused, trying to shift Roger’s attention from his gaze of shock at Martin to him. “Detective! We need to vacate the premises! It’s not safe here!”

“I can’t leave him…” Roger just stared at Martin on the other side of the glass.

“You need to get out of here, Rog,” Martin admonished. “I’ve already sucked in too much of this stuff, but you guys should be okay if you leave now. But you have to go now or else…” He put out his hands as if gloating almost. “How is my big heroic act going to look if I don’t save anyone, huh? Total waste! So get going, before Trish puts me in the doghouse too.”

“Detective…” SWAT was tugging at his arm now, insistent.

Roger put his hand on the glass door in a seemingly frustrated attempt to reach Martin.

“Ten minutes, Riggs… Hazmat’s going to get here and get you out so you better not mess that up.”

“What can I say, Rog?” Martin shrugged blithely. “If the choice is to live or die, I’m not interested in dying today.”

*

Hazmat set up a perimeter, went inside and didn’t come out.

Roger yelled at anyone who couldn’t move faster than him to try to get some sort of idea what was going on inside and if Martin was all right. Nothing.

Finally, someone he recognized emerged from the decontamination tent and Roger corralled him before he could make it to the command post.

“Deacon! What’s going on in there? What’s happening to my partner?” he demanded, grabbing the man by the arm to keep him from walking away.

“Murtaugh…” Deacon shook his head. “We’re working on getting him out, but it’s complicated.”

“Not complicated!” Roger argued. “Open door, take him to the hospital! What’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” Deacon lowered his voice. “It’s nerve gas. We can’t risk any sort of release and right now that office is filled with fumes. Opening the door…”

“Filled with fumes my partner is breathing in right now!” Roger shouted.

Deacon grabbed him and pulled him into one of the Hazmat trucks.

“Listen to me! If this gets out there’s going to be panic! Now do you want a mass unplanned evacuation of LA? Millions of people stuck on the freeways and freaking out, maybe for no reason, just because someone overheard there had been a release of a deadly nerve gas in city? Get a hold of yourself! There’s more at stake than your partner’s life and he knows that!”

Roger closed his eyes and willed himself to just breathe and calm himself. After a second or two, he spoke.

“Just tell me he’s going to be okay.”

Deacon shook his head. “Wish I could, but we don’t know. We’re filtering the air in the office now so we can get the door open as soon as there’s an all clear, but until the tests come back on the concentration, we won’t have any idea how long he’s got or if he’s got a chance.”

“So, you’re saying he could die.” The words felt wrong in Roger’s mouth and had to be forced out.

Deacon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m saying you need to prepare yourself for the worst possible outcome.”

*

By the time Hazmat wheeled Martin out to be taken to the hospital he was unnaturally still, pale and breathing through a mask. They had to have put him through decontamination as his raggedy jeans and old shirt had been replaced by fresh looking blue scrubs.

“They took my boots… You know I ain’t never going to get those back.” Martin complained weakly, pulling off the mask to talk only to have a hand reach in and replace it.

“We’ll take a road trip to Texas to buy you another pair if we have to,” Roger promised, trying to keep his tone light. “’Cause I know no California boots are going to satisfy your tastes Mr. Hot Couture.”

Roger jogged after the gurney and got into the ambulance as well, settling himself out of the EMT’s way but close enough to be in Martin’s line of sight.

“How are you feeling, Detective Riggs?” the EMT asked, setting him up on a heart monitor.

When a snarky retort didn’t appear right away, Roger felt a sickening chill in its absence.

After a few breaths, Martin seemed to have to expend real effort to get the words out.

“Not great…”

“If it’s hard to speak, just nod or shake your head,” the EMT instructed. “Are you nauseous?” Nod. “Chest feel tight? Detective?” the EMT gave Martin a little shake to get a response.

“Kind of… Yeah…” Martin managed.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay,” Roger told him in his most reassuring voice.

Martin grimaced and shook his head. “No, I’m not, Rog.”

When no quip followed, just silence and the gradual drooping of Martin’s eyelids, fear’s hand clutched Roger’s heart.

“Driver!” He yelled out. “Go faster!”

“We’re three minutes out!” she yelled back.

The EMT beside him got on his radio and even though Roger could only clearly hear his end of the conversation the tension in the man’s voice didn’t help alleviate his rampant stress responses.

“This is Four Six Delta! We’re three minutes out with Code Y38.6X1. Holding treatment for Hazmat response.” After listening briefly, the EMT responded with a flurry of activity. “Understood. Administering 2 milligrams of Atropine. Holding Diazepam for symptoms. Meet us in three with the 2-PAM autoinjector.” He briskly prepped a syringe and injected it into Martin’s thigh. “Detective, they figured out which gas you were exposed to. It’s a nerve agent called VX. I’ve given you one of two drugs needed to counteract the effect. The hospital has the other and they’re waiting at the door to give you the second injection.”

Martin answered with a feeble nod that showed he understood. Roger’s reaction was much stronger.

“What’s the third drug?” he demanded. “You said you were holding something. If he needs it…”

The EMT put his hand out to halt Roger. “Detective, if he needs the third drug…”

Both men started to speak at once only to be interrupted by a sudden noise from the gurney: Martin was in the throes of a violent seizure.

“Patient is seizing! Administering Diazepam now!”

The injection worked to calm Martin’s seizure, but he failed to return to consciousness afterwards.

“Riggs?”

The silence inside the ambulance was as deafening as the sirens outside that were failing to get them to the ER fast enough.

Roger reached over to take Martin’s hand and grasp it tightly in his own.

“You fight this, you hear me?” He fought back fierce tears, mostly unsuccessfully. “Don’t be doing anything stupid like going to be with your wife and kid. They’ll be there any time. You don’t have to leave now. Besides,” he attempted a half-hearted chuckle. “You need to keep me company in the doghouse or I’ll be all alone in here.”

He bit back a wave of emotion that threatened to swamp him and steeled himself for the rest of the short trip. Mere seconds later he had to let go of Martin’s hand and move quickly out of the way as they came to a stop and the doors opened.

Hospital employees unloaded the gurney and rushed it into the ER, yelling out instructions as they went.

Roger followed, but was stopped by a burly orderly at a set of double doors.

“Sorry, sir. Authorized personnel only,” he said, his meaty hand on Roger’s chest blocking his forward progress.

Roger watched through the tiny glass porthole windows as Martin disappeared into a room. He’d arrived at this point via raw adrenaline and it felt like it all abandoned him at that moment.

Suddenly exhausted, he staggered over to a nearby guest chair and collapsed into it. He stared at the blank white wall opposite, unable to see anything more than the horrifically real visions behind his eyes.

He knew he should be doing something, calling someone, working the case, at least alerting the captain. But all he could do was sit and stare and wait. Martin would need him to be near so near he was staying.

It took the distant sounding ringing of his phone to eventually bring him back to something like full consciousness.

“Hello,” he said into the phone, as if on auto-pilot.

“Well, hello Roger!” Trish began. “I thought I’d give you a call to say thank you for the lovely lunch at Chivonne’s. I knew you wouldn’t make it so I had already invited my friend Holly from work. We’ve had a lovely time, but one thing was missing…” Her tone shifted. “A phone call from you saying you weren’t coming! Honestly, Roger… I’m used to you blowing me off at the last minute, but to not even call?”

“I’m at the hospital,” was all Roger could get out.

“Baby…” Trish’s tone had shifted again, this time to genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“It’s Riggs,” his voice caught, but he made himself speak the fearful truth. “It’s bad. He might not make it.”

“You hold on…” Trish’s strength came through across the line. “I’ll be right there.”

*

“You gave us all a good scare, you know that?” Roger admonished a bemused looking Martin, sitting up in his bed eating brightly colored gelatin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin scoffed. “But it was worth it for this delicious jello. You know how hard it is to find lime flavored these days? And the raspberry? To die for.”

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Trish said, patting Martin’s hand.

“And maybe the mayor will give me a medal!” Martin crowed.

“No such luck,” Brooks piped up from the corner. “In order to do that he’d have to acknowledge that there had been a nerve gas release, which he is so not going to do.”

“You’re just going to have to settle for a heartfelt thank you,” Maureen added from beside the captain. “From all of us who do know and are grateful to not be dead thanks to you.”

“Thanks and jello,” Martin mused. “Make the next round jello shots and we’re good!”

A hearty round of laughter followed.

“Roger?”

Roger woke with a start, finding himself awkwardly arrayed over a guest chair outside the ICU. Blinking, he glanced inside, any relief his dream had offered vanishing at the sight of a motionless Martin surrounded by beeping machines.

“I’m awake,” he told her, shifting to sit up straight and realizing how much his muscles were aching with protest.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she apologized, “but you seemed like you were a half inch away from sliding out of the chair and onto the floor.”

“Any change?” he asked, cocking his head in Martin’s direction.

Trish just shook her head. “No. Avery’s off hunting down a doctor who might know more than the nurses here do, but I think he just can’t stand to see Martin like this.”

“I get that,” Roger mused, gazing through the glass. “Riggs is always moving, always loud…”

“Always larger than life?” Trish supplied. “Don’t worry, baby. He’ll pull through. He’s too much of a fighter to quit.”

“Not even if he gets to be with his wife and child?” Roger shook his head sadly. “Trish, if I lost you and Harper…”

“You’d have Rihanna and R.J. to keep you here,” Trish stated adamantly. “And I’d kick your ass back here from the afterlife if I had to to make sure our kids had at least one parent.”

“But Honey…” Roger felt the sadness of the truth of his words like a weight. “Riggs doesn’t have that. Everyone he loved in his family is gone.”

“No,” Trish told him, brooking no argument. “That’s not true. We’re his family and we’re right here.”

*

“Page seventeen.” Brooks tossed the morning paper on Roger’s lap, open to a small article about LAPD activity the day before. “The brass gave us credit for taking down what they referred to as a “decent-sized” meth lab.”

“Heh,” Roger huffed, stretching with a wince after spending the night in what he’d decided was the world’s most uninviting guest chair. “That’s the ‘official’ story. ‘Cause the truth would have been all over the front page.”

“Honestly, if we hadn’t taken out the whole lab and everyone in it? There might not have been a newspaper. They found enough raw materials to contaminate about two square miles of city and plans to detonate dirty bombs in seventeen locations including city hall.” Brooks shifted his gaze to Martin. “What Riggs did by containing the accidental release alone saved everyone in a three-block radius, including all of law enforcement on the scene.”

Roger turned to look at Martin as well. He looked disturbingly the same as last night, save where Trish had tried to finger comb his crazy curls into submission before heading home to take care of Harper and get her to daycare.

“So, no medal, no pompous awards ceremony with the mayor, no commendation in his file…”

“He doesn’t need anything in his file for this,” Brooks assured him. “The brass? Everyone knows.” He nodded. “Trust me, everyone knows how much we owe Riggs.”

“Does that mean he’s got a permanent ‘Get out of Jail Free Pass’ from them?” Roger asked, a sly grin on his face.

“I wouldn’t say permanent,” Brooks capitulated, “unless it was anyone other than Riggs. You two together? Maybe three weeks tops with your record.”

“Hey!”

Brooks shrugged. “What can I say? You guys had so many points against you racked up from the past you burned through most of this new goodwill just getting forgiven for recent, how shall we say? Unfortunate events?”

Roger rose and walked over to stand beside Martin’s bed.

“I’d say this is the most unfortunate event of all.”

*  
Los Angeles  
Thursday 4:18PM

Four nights of stakeouts prior to the chemical lab bust had left Roger exhausted so he tried to convince himself that was Martin’s excuse for sleeping nonstop as well.

He found himself catnapping between visits from coworkers while Trish and Rihanna had been playing hostesses to all, making sure anyone keeping vigil had coffee and ate at least semi-regularly.

Trish had also brought him a duffel bag with a change of clothes and his toiletries case so he could at least brush his teeth and trim his beard while he was waiting. A kindly nurse offered him access to a shower which he only took advantage of when Maureen showed up and promised to remain at Martin’s side until he returned so he wouldn’t risk waking up alone.

On his way back from getting cleaned up he realized he felt much better. With a little pep in his step he walked back to the ICU feeling more optimistic than he had before.

That lasted about twenty seconds; when he saw Maureen through the glass she had both hands over her face and Martin was surrounded by doctors and nurses. She looked like she was sobbing into her hands.

“No…” It hit Roger like a blow, staggering him. “You can’t be dead…” he stammered, seeking comfort in disbelief and finding none. “You can’t be dead. Don’t be dead…”

He burst into the room, causing Maureen to uncover her face and look at him. She was crying, but she was also laughing.

“Murtaugh!” Her face was a mélange of emotion, but mostly amazement and amusement. “He woke up! He woke up and asked me if I could bring him some corn chips from the vending machine because he missed breakfast!”

She spontaneously embraced Roger, throwing off any semblance of a professional veneer. Over her shoulder he could see that the medical personnel surrounding Martin were merely doing tests – checking his blood pressure, taking vials of blood, shining a light in his eyes…

“Ow!” Martin complained, scowling. “That’s it! If y’all don’t stop poking me I’m filing one of those malpractice suits and suing your fancy ass hospital.”

“No, you won’t,” Roger said, surprising himself at how calm he sounded as Maureen withdrew, letting Roger have first chance to talk with Martin. “These good people saved your life. You’re going to let them finish the job and say thank you before you come home.”

Martin met his eyes with a familiar crooked grin on his face.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Another minute or two passed in which the doctors and nurses finished up and left one by one until it was just the three of them.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Maureen said, flashing Martin a relieved smile before she stepped out.

Roger couldn’t take his eyes off Martin. He looked good. Some color had returned, his hair was its normal wild shape and his eyes were bright, alert and mischievous. His partner was back.

“Is this where we insert the lecture that starts, ‘You could have gotten yourself killed… What did you think you were doing running in there without backup… If the canister had blown… Blah blah blah…’?”

Roger just shook his head and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

“Nope. No lecture. Just a question.”

Martin cocked his head to the side, but Roger didn’t ask.

“Okay…”

Roger let out a long breath and didn’t speak right away.

“I wanted to ask how you managed to come back when…” He paused a second to compose himself, unexpected feelings making it hard to express himself. “…when, you know, your family was there waiting for you on the other side.”

A bittersweet smile on Martin’s face told him he’d touched a chord in the normally flippant man.

“You know what I figured out, Rog? Miranda and my son? They’re always going to be there. Doesn’t make a difference to them if I check out when I’m forty or fifty or eighty-seven and a half. My family loves me no matter what. That’s what makes them family.” He reached a hand towards Roger and Roger grasped it tightly with his own, eyes grown watery with emotion. “And I got family right here to stick around for.”

“Damn straight,” Roger said, trying to stay cool despite it all. “You’re stuck with us.”

Martin let his head rest back against the pillows, letting out a long breath. Both men visibly relaxed, but their hands remained joined, as if forgotten but not, on the white hospital sheets.

“So,” Martin finally asked. “How much are we in the doghouse with Trish?”

Roger laughed, beautiful relief finally offering him a respite from the strain of the last few days.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you got a pass! And speaking of passes… Avery thinks the goodwill from the brass will last us for a few weeks!”

“A few weeks? That’s it?” Martin smirked behind his mustache. “Get used to the doghouse, partner. That’s nowhere near enough…”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the film/song of the almost same name: To Live and Die in L.A.
> 
> Some medical/procedural aspects researched as correct, some made up. YMMV ;-)
> 
> Thanks to my beta!


End file.
